


The Salt and Pepper Diner

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [52]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: An Anonymous request for a What's New Pussycat inspired fic. I'm (not) sorry.





	The Salt and Pepper Diner

“What could possibly go wrong?”  


Google_R immediately launched into an alphabetized list while Google_B stood by, arms crossed, fans whirring in angry overdrive. 

“Wilford,” Dr. Iplier sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you _know_  we can’t go outside, especially as a _group.”_

“Why not?!”  


“We all have the _same face_ , you idiot.”  


“We could be–” Wilford counted quickly on his fingers, “–nonuplets!”  


“To be fair,” Google_B jumped in, before Dr. Iplier could burst a blood vessel, “most humans are not perceptive enough to notice, nor question us. Also, I highly doubt that the nine of us would go together.”  


“Nonsense,” Wilford scoffed a little, spinning his gun around his finger. “Dark and Hosty would love to come–”  


“Absolutely not.”  


“No.”  


Down the hall, two doors slammed shut. Wilford scowled, catching his gun, and resisted the urge to shoot Dr. Iplier in his smug face. 

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t go either,” Dr. Iplier said, shaking his head. This was a losing battle. “I have work to attend to.”  


Wilford threw up his hands in frustration. “I want to go out for dinner, at least _one_ of you has to come with me!”

A collective sigh. 

* * *

“Look!” The first thing that Wilford did, walking into the diner, was to run to the back. “They have a jukebox!” Wilford rushed forward, borrowed shirt and jeans under his normal pinstriped coat.   


Bim, dressed in a shirt and cargo shorts, hurried after Wilford with enthusiasm. Google_B and Oliver followed with a kind of resignation: sunglasses to hide their eyes, sweatshirts to hide their glowing chests. 

To be fair to Wilford, they were lucky. There was only one other couple in the diner, and they seemed to be in the middle of a very intense discussion. The teenager behind the counter barely looked up as they entered.

The Googles went to the counter to order, averting their eyes. 

“Two… sandwiches, please,” Oliver said, hesitant.   


“What kind?” She glanced up from under side-swept bangs, chewing the inside of her cheek.   


“Um…” Oliver shot a glance at Google_B, whose attention was wholly focused on eyeing Wilford and Bim, giggling over the jukebox.  


“Right.” The cashier shoved her hair out of her face, looking directly at Oliver. “Meat or no meat?”  


Now that was, categorically, easier. “Meat.”

“Cheese or no cheese?”  


“Cheese.”  


“Veggies or no veggies?”  


“Er, no vegetables.”  


She hit a few buttons on the register, looking Oliver up and down. “Two ‘Cheesy Slops,’ coming right up.” She pointed to a stack of cups. “Drink or no drink?”

“Drink,” Google_B said, rolling his eyes. He handed Oliver enough money for the food before walking over to the table that Wilford and Bim had picked out, still snickering conspiratorially.   


“Friends of yours?” The girl jerked her chin towards the table, Google_B now not-so-subtly reprimanding the other two.   


“Sort of,” Oliver managed, pocketing his change.   


“Hmmph.” She handed Oliver a receipt and a number. 

Oliver took them and stood, awkwardly. What about the food…?  


A soft expression crossed her face, like the flicker of a bulb. She gestured to the table again. “Sit down, and someone will bring your food.”

“Thank– thank you,” Oliver stuttered, repressing a beep. His eyes flashed yellow behind his sunglasses. Why did human interaction have to be so difficult?  


In the background, music started to play.

* * *

Bim glanced at Wilford, cheeks bulging with whatever sandwich this was, trying and failing not to laugh. 

“What are you laughing about?”  


With a loud _snort_ , Wilford sent pieces of sandwich flying across the table. The other couple looked over in disgust. Google_B shook his head, handing over a napkin. 

Bim started giggling, and Oliver looked over at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

The song in the background was a lot longer than Oliver had originally thought. 

* * *

Bim and Wilford shot looks at each other over their ice cream, snickering. The man in the booth next to them stared into his drink, fists clenched. Google_B and Oliver were passing time with a virtual game of chess when Oliver saw Wilford grin around a mouthful of ice cream in a way that certainly meant death for the people in his immediate vicinity. 

“Wilford, why are you smiling?”  


Wilford shook is head, meeting Bim’s eye with a wink. Oliver looked between them, lost, and Bim put on an innocent smile. 

“We’re just happy to be here, Oliver.”  


Oliver didn’t buy it, at all. 

Either the song in the background was really long and had been played twice, or someone had just played it _four times._

* * *

As soon as Oliver heard the song repeat, again, the _fifth time_ , he shot a suspicious glare at Bim and Wilford, nearly red-faced with the strain of not laughing. 

The man at the other booth pounded his fist on the table, cursing quietly, and stormed out. As soon as the door closed behind him, Bim and Wilford burst into laughter.

Google_B sat up. “What is _wrong_  with you two?” he hissed, whirring in anger.

Wilford was too far gone to respond, but Bim managed, “The… music,” between wheezes. 

Oliver and Google_B exchanged a glance. 

“You two are going to get us kicked out,” Oliver said, beeping worriedly. The cashier, passing their table, looked over in concern.   


Google_B turned around to her and smiled until she looked away. “Wilford,” he hissed, turning back, “you are an _idiot_.”

* * *

Oliver was on the verge of asking Wilford and Bim how many songs they’d queued up, when the song finally changed. Google_B sighed a little, leaning back in his seat. The relief in the air was palpable, and the girl from the counter swept past them with a broom, humming. 

Oliver wasn’t convinced, seeing Bim grin at Wilford, bubble-gum scented nausea washing over him in waves.

* * *

The song in the background faded out, and Oliver knew what was going to happen before it did. 

“ _BWAAAH BWAAAAH WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT-_ -”  


“GODDAMMIT WILFORD.”  



End file.
